


Three's A Crowd

by invisibledeity



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Mind Games, PTSD, Protective!Cor, and as per usual ardyn is a dick, as ever from me, cor responds to trauma the best way he knows how, one-sided promdyn, rated M because no explicit scenes but the themes are strong, references to past torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-20 00:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12421638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/pseuds/invisibledeity
Summary: “I shall keep your friends company until you are ready.”The words Ardyn spoke to Noctis as he was subsumed by the crystal were words Ardyn fully intended to make good on. Unfortunately, his first encounter with Prompto happened to also include Cor's presence. Immortal vs Immortal. This is how it happened.(gift fic for Kaciart)





	Three's A Crowd

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaciart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaciart/gifts).



> A fanfic for @kaciart based on this lovely piece of artwork: [ http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/166301871743](http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/166301871743)
> 
> I was blown away by the concept, and this story sprung into being almost instantly. I hope you enjoy it!

Prompto hadn’t been the same since he returned from Niflheim. Quiet, subdued, pensive, and yet fiercely determined in a way that Cor recognised, in a way he often saw in older military men. Cor didn’t ask questions, didn’t press for details. Instead, while they all tried to find their place in the new darkened world, he let Prompto tag along on various missions, because apparently what the kid wanted was more training.

         This was one of the easier days.

         Mission was simple enough. Rachsia Bridge: once a small fishing settlement, now abandoned to the daemons. Scout it out, clear out any stragglers, report back to HQ, job done.

         They had departed not long after midday, during the few remaining hours of sunlight they had left. Following the trail of the Wennath River, with water reflecting dying orange light from the left, and long grasses and bracken to their right. Soon, the grass gave way to sand and pebble, and Cor slowed to a stop. Rachsia was all spikes against the purple sky, wooden planks from hut walls all splintered and pointing upward in disarray, the bulky pillars of the remaining stone foundations breaking up the sharpness, like miniature towers. Daemons had really done a number on the place. Seemed quiet now, though.

         Cor bent into a crouch and tapped Prompto on the shoulder, an indication that he should follow suit. His skin was cold and Cor felt the lightest of shivers as he touched him. Boy still wore his Crownsguard vest, despite Cor’s numerous hints that he should swap out for something more appropriate.

         Well. Let him have his comforts.

         They had barely taken two steps into the abandoned settlement when Cor felt the boy stiffen up beside him. The heavy twilight skies were no more intimidating than they had been mere seconds ago, and there was not a hint of a threat on the breeze. So why this sudden change?

         He cast a sharp eye to Prompto. He had never seen him look so terrified. Eyes wide, unbelieving, focussed on the buildings before them. Pheromones tripping off the charts in fear.

         Then, a desultory sniff up ahead. He snapped back to attention, zoned in on the source of the noise.

         Metres away, perched on the crumbling edifice of one of the small abandoned fishing huts, was a man with flyaway hair and a wide-brimmed hat, and a long, long coat that rustled on a non-existent breeze. He sat with one leg idly swung over the other, and he appeared mildly amused, as if he had no reason to fear being out here alone.

         At first, Cor could not fathom how he hadn’t noticed the man’s presence. How he hadn’t even heard the coat moving. Then, as the picture resolved, as his eyes singled out colours and patterns against the darkening sky, he realised why.

         This man was Ardyn Izunia. He knew that much from the description Ignis had once given him. Red hair, eccentric dress, and that ridiculous hat. Cor was aware of two things: that this man was the cause of Noctis’s disappearance, and that he had no small amount of influence over the daemons, although the exact details escaped him there. Didn’t matter. He tensed his muscles, ready to react.

         ‘My, you’re a long way from home.’

         That voice, now. The words were not directed at him, but they spilled into Cor’s ears like mead, like rich wine, and it was all sugar that masked a deep poison. It sent a frisson dancing down his neck, and he didn’t like it one bit. He steeled himself, didn’t let his expression betray anything, focussed his attention forward.

         The look in Ardyn’s eyes was like nothing Cor had ever seen. He hardly appeared to register Cor was there, staring straight past him at the boy, burnished irises shining in a face all hazy and sated like he’d had one drink too many. Sated, when he hadn’t even won yet. It put Cor on edge.

         Prompto was still frozen to the spot. His mouth was parted as if in denial, lips moving faintly, but he made no sound. Back to their wayfaring stranger. Those intense eyes were travelling over every contour of the boy’s body, taking in the patterns on his clothing, paying particular attention to the patches sewn onto his top, letting a wry smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he did so. It was … insultingly fond, as though he was indulging in a particularly joyous memory.

         Gods above. He shouldn’t have let Prompto wear the Crownsguard vest. He shouldn’t have let him wear something Ardyn would recognise.

         ‘What a welcome! Oh, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already.’ Ardyn breathed out an exaggeration of a sigh, and leaned his chin nonchalantly on one hand. Elbow to knee. Foot bobbing in the air. Eyes on Prompto. ‘You know, I had promised dear Noct I should keep his friends company until he returned.’ Another teasing grin. The smallest of noises from Prompto now, and it was too much, _this_ was too much.

         Cor stepped forward. Not by more than a few inches, and Ardyn’s lips parted from subtle grin to the widest of smiles when he heard those military boots pivot into position in the sand. _A challenge._

         Movement. A twist of fabric around his midriff. Quick as lightning, Prompto had grabbed his shirt, fisted a handful of fabric tight. Stared at him with pleading eyes.

         ‘Marshall … let’s go.’

         Cor readied one hand at the hilt of his sword where it hung on his back, and shrugged off Prompto’s insistent hands with fierce, unforgiving intent.

         Prompto, panicked voice skipping upward into an ever-higher register.

         ‘No, don’t! Don’t …’

         ‘You should perhaps listen to your protégé, Marshall.’ The man’s voice, sonorous and challenging even as he decried the need to rise to arms.

         Why were both of them talking like he wasn’t going to win? He’d fought Gilgamesh and survived. He was _the_ Immortal, and he’d be damned if he didn’t use his strength to shield the boy from harm. And besides, Ardyn’s attitude rankled him, and he usually preferred to let his sword do the talking. His grip tightened.

         ‘Please,’ Prompto said, and while his tone was hushed, Ardyn didn’t miss a thing.

         ‘Mm. I do so like it when he pleads,’ Ardyn murmured, uncrossing his legs now and leaning forward from his perch. ‘You really ought to keep it up, Marshall. Make him do it again.’

         Cor set his jaw, felt every muscle in his body grow rigid. There was just the _sourness_ of the situation, like he’d unwittingly picked at an old and festering wound. He couldn’t just replace the bandage now, as it was.

 _Defend the boy. Get Prompto out._ Things always came back to that, didn’t they?

         ‘Oh, you’re a poor sport,’ Ardyn murmured, foot bobbing again almost impatiently. He raised his eyes to the sky - the first time he had torn his gaze from Prompto since he had first appeared - and he began to address the heavens. ‘I met a traveller from an antique land … who said - ‘Two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand … In the desert - and near them on the sand …’

         Was the man going to recite poetry at them now?

         Cor’s brow furrowed, and his mouth drew to a tight, straight line. He stayed at the ready, and waited to see what Ardyn would do.

         Apparently, more poetry was the answer.

         ‘Half-sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown … and wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command … tell that its sculptor well those passions read.’

         Was Ardyn insulting him? It was hard to tell. Cor wanted to cut him down where he lounged, but he quelled his desires, stayed his hand. Kept the frown.

         Ardyn gesticulated at the broken buildings and tumbledown shacks.

         ‘Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ His hands came to rest casually on his thighs, and he had the smug, self-satisfied look of a cat that got the cream. ‘Or so the story goes. Rather romantic, is it not?’

         ‘It’s a mess,’ Cor replied blandly. And Prompto … Prompto was busy making not a sound, wringing his hands anxiously behind his back.

         Ardyn shifted position again, and the sky seemed to turn a more bloody shade of purple. Cor’s skin prickled. The atmosphere turned the way it did before daemons manifested from the ground, all heavy and hot, distorting the air around him, calling forth some immense and roiling power from a hidden well deep in the earth. Except here, that power was all centred around this one man. And it multiplied, grew exponential as the seconds dragged by. What Cor had felt in Gilgamesh’s domain, that primal sense of unstoppable power, that had just been a starter course compared to what was rising up around him now. A wash of honest-to-god fear drove through him.

         He rarely got the chance to feel such a sensation. And, to top it off, he was hit with the overbearing notion that, whatever ensued between the two of them, he was not going to emerge the winner. Another rare feeling.

         It was deeply upsetting.

         Prompto pleaded with him again to just _go, let’s go._ And this time, he listened. One by one, fingers retracting from the grip of his sword. The other hand, pushing Prompto back carefully. Eyes on Ardyn the whole time.

         ‘We have no business with you,’ Cor said, as guarded as a lion tamer in the ring. He stepped back warily, increasing the no-man’s-land between them.

         ‘Sensible lad.’

         To his immense relief and confusion, Ardyn let them go, gazing after them with that ridiculous grin on his face. Cor didn’t turn his back on him once, not until they were a significant distance away, and it was at this point that Ardyn called out after them.

         ‘Such a _delight_ to run into you again, dearest Prompto. I do pray we meet again soon.’

         It was amazing how he managed to make every sentence sound like both an insult and a lover’s gentle crooning. Amazing, and disturbing. Wouldn’t take much for a voice like that to get inside someone’s mind and wreak havoc there, that was for sure. Cor looked sidelong at Prompto.   

         For a moment, Cor thought his young charge would cry. But Prompto held it together, shuddering out breath and rubbing his arms in the chill air, trying to ignore the voice, trying to find distractions.

         ‘C’mon. Only a few kilometres away.’ Cor urged him on with a steady hand. Even after they had passed out of sight and earshot of the unwelcome stranger, Prompto’s eyes were darting about, and he still shivered, trembling with more than the cold. He was hypervigilant. Flighty. Checking every escape route, even though they had now passed out of the danger zone.

         Cor bit down on his questions. Focussed on the main objective. Kept his determined stride.

 

Back to Old Lestallum, back to the safety of floodlights and communal fires and the comforting smell of tanned animal hide and fried food. Cor sat Prompto down by one of the barrel fires to get the warmth back into his shocked body.

         ‘He okay?’ One of the other hunters, Lazlo, asking. ‘Looks like he’s seen a ghost.’

         Cor grunted. ‘Bad hunt, is all.’

         Lazlo didn’t ask any more questions. A commiserative nod, and he went back to his own grind. That’s how it was in the Hunter outposts, and Cor liked it that way.

         Prompto was staring at the flames, transfixed.

         ‘Hey, hey, it’s okay. You hear me? Listen to me. It’s okay.’

         He rubbed Prompto’s shoulders, one of the few signs of comfort he knew to dispense, and at first Prompto was still, then in a swift about-face, he all but collapsed into Cor’s chest, shielding his eyes.

         ‘I … no, please, I don’t wanna …’

         ’S’okay,’ Cor murmured, trying to keep his tone calming. He knew that was difficult. He knew he came off sterner than he’d like. ‘It’s all okay. You don’t have to say anything.’

         After a moment, Prompto sniffed and moved back, still shielding his face. He was probably crying, probably embarrassed. Cor did the decent thing and cast his gaze toward the fire. Then Prompto spoke, and he sounded so, so vulnerable, putting Cor in mind of the small babe he’d been when Cor had rescued him from Niflheim those years long past.

         ‘Can we just … forget it?’

         ‘Not a problem. I’m going to get some skewers. Hungry?’

         ‘Yeah.’ Then, as an afterthought, ‘Thanks, Cor. Really.’

         Always a considerate kid.

 

The night was fitful, and Cor woke many a time to the sounds of Prompto kicking and uttering unintelligible phrases in the bunk next to him. The next day, Cor drove Prompto back to Lestallum without a word. They stopped at Burbost on the way there, picked up some ready meals and juice bottles - anything Cor could think of that might help over the coming days, because Prompto was knocked off-kilter and that made self-management difficult. Cor understood that far more than he could articulate.

         He wasn’t the caring kind, but he knew about military rations, about what the body needed to stay healthy when under duress. So he went for that.

         Prompto seemed to appreciate it, at any rate. They said goodbye on the terracotta steps to his shabby Lestallum apartment, and Cor left Prompto with a clap on the shoulder and a promise to call him should the need arise.

         ‘I’ll check on you over the next few days. Chin up, kid.’

 

The first thing he did after that was go to see Ignis.

         He was in luck, because Gladio happened to be visiting, too. The both of them, hunched over reports in the Lestallum court house, strategizing, no doubt.

         His entrance was un-serenaded, and Ignis noticed first, cane clacking round the table as he stepped forth to greet him.

         ‘Marshall. Good to see you.’

         Cor returned the greeting in like spirit, and immediately got to the point.

         ‘I was out on a recon mission with Prompto yesterday. We met Ardyn.’

         ‘Ardyn?’ Now Gladio cut in, rumbling in barely-contained rage.

         ‘Well, that is troubling,’ Ignis murmured. ‘Care to elaborate?’

         He did. And when he was done, both Ignis and Gladio took a moment to formulate their thoughts.

         ‘It was a warning,’ Ignis said at length. ‘He intends to fulfil some sort of promise he made to Noctis. To “keep us company,” as it were. I would never have expected him to follow through on such a thing while Noctis isn’t here.’

         ‘Keep us company, fair enough. But he only has eyes for Prompto.’ Gladio, his voice a low rumble. ‘Which means we need to protect him.’

         ‘Agreed. Cor, you said you’d be checking in on him again soon, correct?’

         Cor nodded. ‘Can you tell me just one thing, though?’

         ‘In a second. First, we strategize. You continue your planned visit tomorrow, and we shall set up watch around the town. I’ll drop by too, but only once you’ve ascertained his mental state. Don’t want to worry him, after all.’

         A grunt from Gladio. ‘Can’t we just all go now?’

         ‘No. He’s in shock, Gladio. Give him some space. Besides, Cor has already seen that he has everything he needs. You can trust him not to do anything stupid.’

         Another grunt, this time of reluctant assent.

         There was just one loose end left, and Cor found he had to clear his throat of the unexpected lump that had risen in it before he could ask. ‘What did Ardyn do to him?’

         The two young men stopped in their tracks. For the briefest of moments, the room fell silent as a hallowed tomb. Then Ignis spoke.

         ‘When we found him in Gralea, he was … restrained to a torture device of some sort.’

         ‘Yeah, and with a number of injuries he’s never explained since,’ Gladio added.

         Cor thought of the recurrent shoulder dislocations the boy suffered while out in the field - the kind that only happened as a result of an initial, traumatic injury - and a hot rage spread across his skin, making his cheeks flush like he’d been at the barrel.

         ‘It’s too damn cruel,’ Gladio muttered, evidently still chewing away at the memories. ‘Why he’d appear to him out of all of us.’

         Eventually Cor found the power of speech again.

         ‘Thanks for telling me. I’ll be back in touch later.’

 

The night had passed, and the hours trundled their way onward to the fading morning once more. Almost midday now, if the hazy glow behind the curtains was anything to go by. This was as light as it was ever going to get.

          Prompto had not slept, nor had he eaten a thing. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Cor’s gift of food, it was simply … a snag that his mind had caught on. He was sitting cross-legged in his apartment, studying the moth-eaten voile curtains that desperately needed replacing, when the knock came at the door.

         Did he even need new curtains when the world was getting darker by the day? Probably not.

         The knock came again and Prompto’s heart leapt into his throat, but only for a moment.

         Ah. Yeah. Cor said he would be checking in.

         Prompto extricated his legs from their numb position, shook and stretched, and ambled his way lethargically to the door. He didn’t have any focus left to give to real-world problems right now, but he couldn’t be, well, _rude._

He answered the door.

         Safety-chain on, and the face that peered through the latch was Cor’s, sure enough. Prompto breathed a sigh of relief. Unlocked the chain. Let him in.

         ‘I, uh … don’t really have any coffee or anything. Just water. And juice.’

         ‘That’s fine. Brought something of my own anyway.’ That stern, yet warm, bassy tone filled the room with a calming presence, and Prompto could practically feel his skin breathe under the release of the tension.

         ‘I came to check on you, after the other day. I know it was hard on you.’

         ‘Er, yeah. About that. I don’t want you to worry.’

         A darkly humorous expression crossed Cor’s face, but only for a second. ‘Of course I worry. I care about you, Prompto.’

         ‘O-okay.’ He wasn’t so sure he deserved it, but whatever.

         ‘Now. I brought you some of that fried rice from the marketplace. The spicy stuff. Figured you’d like that.’ He began to fish the takeout boxes from the brown paper bag he’d brought with him, joining Prompto on the floor of the main room, thankfully passing no comment on the state of the place.

         ‘Look, there’s even some porcini too.’

         Those mushrooms he liked, done in a cream sauce with olive oil. The first two boxes were laid out on the low coffee table and the smell was so goddamn appetising. Prompto’s stomach growled with a ferocity he had not expected, so disconnected had he been from physical necessity these past twenty-four hours.

         Cor’s diversion was much appreciated – and Prompto knew he had been falling below the line as far as food went - but it was a diversion nonetheless, and Prompto really, truly, had to apologise.

         ‘It’s still a lot of trouble. So I’m … I’m sorry. I didn’t want … I … yeah. Gods, I suck at this.’

         Cor fixed him with an intense expression, one he didn’t expect coming from his face. Hand paused where it lifted the last takeout box from his bag.

         ‘You know, I’m really starting to get tired of your moaning.’

         Prompto blinked. His chest flushed with a feeling so _wrong_ and so horribly familiar. That lurch in his belly.

         ‘What? I didn’t mean …’

         ‘Oh, I know what you meant. But really, dear Prompto, did your time with me teach you nothing?’

         That was when the mask shifted. Cor’s safe, strong, protective face twisting into something bitter and old and splashed with the colour of red, red blood. Was he dreaming? He had to be dreaming. But Ardyn was truly present before him, if his eyes were to be believed, and he was smiling now, as casually as if he was discussing a break in the weather.

         Facing down his nightmare, Prompto screamed.

 

It was late in the evening by the time Cor made it to Prompto’s apartment. He hadn’t been able to get away from his duties any earlier, and it was already making him feel more than a little guilty. Inside the stairwell of the poky apartment block, the air was stale. It reminded him of old military lockers, or abandoned buildings. He made a mental note to try and find the boy somewhere better to lodge in future.

         Cor stopped on the landing of the third floor, because something was wrong. Perhaps something as simple as a displacement of dust, or a scent in the air that didn’t match the setting. He cast his eyes about. Nothing in the shadows. No untoward noise.

         He shook it off, and stepped forward to knock on the ageing wood of Prompto’s front door.

         The knocking resounded in the stairwell, and nothing followed.

         Odd.

         He knocked again.

         This time, a fumbling, the thud of limbs on wooden floors, and Cor held his ear closer to the door, tried to listen.

         Maybe Prompto was more depressed than he had realised. He called out.

         ‘Prompto? You in there? It’s Cor.’

         A gap, which was filled with more fumbling. Then;

         ‘I’m not coming out.’

         ‘Prompto, are you okay?’ He enunciated each word as distinctly as he could without sounding blithe.

         ‘I’m sorry,’ came the excuse. ‘Last time, you … you were …’

         He didn’t seem able to finish the sentence. Cor waited patiently, gave him space to right his tripped-up thoughts. And soon he spoke again. Tight. High-pitched. Quiet as a mouse.

         ‘You were _him._ He can … he can change his face, you know, he …’

         Oh, gods.

         Cor leaned his head on the wood. Breathed out slow, trying to master the spike of rage.

         ‘I promise you, I’m not him.’

         A gritty yell of frustration now. Sounded like Prompto was saying ‘No.’ Cor bit his lip. Waited. And now, the apology.

         ‘I’m sorry. I can’t trust that. I … please, don’t be offended.’

         ‘It’s okay. You don’t need to open the door.’

         Silence, for a while.

         ‘Thanks.’

         Prompto was still talking to him, and that was good. Cor let himself sink to the ground, back to the door. If he determined the situation was too dangerous, he always had the option of kicking in the door. Didn’t want to break Prompto’s trust though, so he’d hold off on that as a last resort.

         Cor let his clasped hands come to rest between his knees, and he stared up at the cracks in the ceiling.

         ‘I know this is hard, Prompto, but I need to know. Did he touch you?’

         As expected, a pause. A hesitation. Then a choked-up reply.

         ‘No, he didn’t touch me, he … he …’

         Cor waited for him to finish, fearing the worst.

         ‘He had dinner with me.’

         Wait, what?

         ‘Well, he did touch me a _bit_ , but … It wasn’t like …’ He trailed off. A muffled thud against the wall, sounded like his head coming gently to rest. Cor wanted to yell at those words, at what they meant, but he chose instead to weather the furious burning in his guts, to let the silence settle, and he was rewarded for it with more information. ‘It was … it was weird. Almost civilised. Almost. We ate rice. Drank all of your orange juice. Like we were roommates.’

         Another pause. Haggard breaths. Then a pitiable whine.

         ‘It _hurts_.’

         Cor sighed. Considered telling him it was okay, but didn’t, because that was a lie. None of this was okay.

         There was, of course, the possibility that this was all imagined. All in Prompto’s head. The biggest rejoinder for that idea was Cor’s own suspicions - the displaced dust and the peculiar scent on entering the apartment block - but still. It was possible. After a chance encounter that reactivated memories of a harrowing experience, it was hardly unrealistic to expect something like this to occur.    

         But by the sounds of it, that was exactly the sort of situation a man like Ardyn might seek to monopolise. It was probably real. Fitted better with his gut instinct anyway.

         He sat, and he breathed deep, and after a while, Prompto continued.

         ‘I … I don’t know why I’m complaining, really, it was only … It wasn’t as bad as the Keep, as the … oh god, oh …’

         Seemed even the mere mention of it was too much. Another thud against the wall. Noises of distress. Damn, the kid was having a mental breakdown and he could do nothing apart from sit there, on the other side of that locked apartment door and _listen._

         Perhaps this was his own problem, for getting so emotionally involved. In his line of work, duty came before empathy. And yet, he had risked his life time and time again for this kid. One could almost say he had a preferential attachment.

 _Eh, didn’t matter why._ Bottom line was, nobody should have had to go through what Prompto went through. Whatever it was, it was evidently too hard to talk about, and Cor had an immense amount of sympathy for that.

         ‘Thought you might want to know - Ignis and Gladio have started searching the city. They’re going to try make sure this doesn’t happen again.’

         ‘They … they are?’

         ‘They’re your friends. And despite what you think, kiddo, you’re not a _problem_ of theirs. Nor mine, for that matter.’ Cor breathed deep, letting the muscles in his neck relax enough now to allow his head a gentle loll to the side. These were more consecutive words than he’d spoken in the last few weeks combined, and it was taxing.

         Didn’t matter, though. Prompto was more important.

         ‘Prompto? You okay in there?’

         A sniff. ‘Y-yeah.’

         He really did not sound okay.

         ‘Tell you what,’ Cor began, adjusting his position on the hard landing floor. ‘You get some rest. I’m gonna camp out here, all night, and I’m going to make sure nobody gets in. Come the morning, I’ll call Ignis and Gladio. That sound okay with you?’

         ‘You really don’t … I don’t …’

         ‘Forget all that. I’ll keep watch tonight. Okay?’

         Hesitant breaths, then a deep sigh, and it sounded almost peaceful. ‘Okay.’

         So Cor settled in for the long haul, and did what he was best at. Didn’t matter how tired he was. He was The Immortal – and just as his title afforded, he would always be able to sleep later.


End file.
